I have been writing in a journal on an almost-daily basis since I was 17 years old. This is a record of me going through each entry from the beginning, and commenting on the me from fifteen years ago.

Used to be that I could do nothing all day, and still feel like I had done something. Now I’m afraid. Gotta take a day to rest though. I think I might need it. It’s been hectic and nerve wracking. I wouldn’t want an ulcer, would I?

It’s funny. I still look back on the majority of my teen years, where I could indeed spend the day not accomplishing anything more than playing a game or reading a fantasy novel, and feel be happy with that. Somewhere along the line, this drive to always get something done developed. I always wonder what flipped the switch.